


Among the Ruins

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Cross-Generation Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Astoria are married, Scorpius and Rose are getting married and all Pansy wants is not to be there. A heartbroken Albus provides a viable distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the Ruins

It was ridiculous, really; the sight that confronted Pansy as she crossed the grounds of Malfoy Manor: the guests were divided, split _right down the fucking middle_ ; clustered around the empty chairs and ornately carved altar on which Scorpius and Rose were to be married.

"Of, for fuck's sake, " Pansy murmured under her breath as, with each step nearer to the congregated guests, she saw the expressions on their faces. Taut, tense. As though they weren't entirely sure what to expect; as though an errant gaze, held for too long, or a too-brusque bump would ignite an all-out brawl between the families. Like they were the _Montagues and fucking Capulets_.

Ridiculous, really.

This was a wedding; fucking _let it go already._

Even as she rolled her eyes at the scene before her, at the sheer _stupidity_ of the guests' insistent animosity, she couldn't shake a feeling of discomfort.

After all, she nearly hadn't come (just let it go).

"Pansy."

A voice, familiar, startled Pansy, dragging her from her thoughts.

"Pansy? Is that you?"

Pansy turned to find Astoria Malfoy upon her, beaming. _Christ_ , Pansy thought. _Here we go._

"Astoria!" Pansy said cheerfully, forcing a smile as bountiful as Astoria's to settle on her lips. "How _are_ you?"

"Oh, _you know_ ," Astoria replied as she leaned in to peck Pansy on the cheek. "Big day and all that. I can't believe it, really. Scorpius, my son – getting _married_."

"Yeah," Pansy said, raising her brow. She was trying to muster up enthusiasm equal to, if not surpassing Astoria's; she was struggling.

"It's amazing the way time flies," Astoria said, gazing nostalgically out over the grounds.

 _Christ Alive,_ Pansy thought, _is she speaking **almost entirely** in clichés?_

"Well, when you're having fun, at least!"

 _She was; she bloody **was**_. Pansy couldn't believe it: clichés, after everything she, Draco and Astoria had been through together – the fighting and fucking and fighting again – and she was being spoken to in a way completely devoid of anything even _remotely_ resembling genuine emotion.

"Well," Pansy said (mustn't sneer; mustn't sneer), clapping a hand on Astoria's forearm. "I'm sure you're busy, what with your son getting married and all that."

"Yes, yes," Astoria trilled, proudly. As she did, Pansy wondered what Draco made of all of this: his son, his _only_ son, marrying a Weasley.

"I'll let you get back to it." Pansy smiled and turned on her heel, hastening to get as far away from Astoria as quickly as possible. She couldn't believe she had wanted that at one time.

"Christ," Pansy mumbled, "I need a cigarette."

***

Pansy leaned back against the cool, hard stone of the Malfoy Manor. It always was so cold, this place. This place, and its people.

Fumbling with the cellophane wrapping, Pansy tore open a new pack of cigarettes; plucking one from amongst its clean, cylindrical brethren, she lifted it to her lips and, with the tip of her wand, set it alight. She inhaled, drawing deeply on its bitter warmth; cradling it on her tongue, holding it.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the now-distant sounds of the impending festivities.

Cold, so cold; against these bricks, shaded by their enormity.

Pansy wondered how it is she thought she could ever be a part of this place: if there was one thing that she _wasn't_ , it was cold. She was heat, Pansy thought as she lifted the cigarette from her lips and examined end: a searing amber glow.

She smirked.

Taking another drag, Pansy closed her eyes; when next she opened them, she was not alone.

"Can I bum one?"

"Hmm?" Pansy said, examining the young man standing before her. He was familiar somehow – his eyes, the straight slope of his nose and jut of his chin, the mess of untamed black hair sweeping across his eyes - though she was sure she'd never seen him.

"A cigarette," he said, gesturing. "Can I bum one?"

Pansy shrugged. She held out the pack, inviting him to take one.

"Thanks," he said; placing the cigarette between his lips, he held it while he fumbled in his trouser pocket for his wand.

"Here," Pansy said, pressing the lit tip of her cigarette to his.

"Thanks," he repeated before taking a deep, long drag. "I'm Albus." He extended a hand.

 _Like she cared._ All she'd wanted to do was escape, hide, and here this kid had found her. And didn't look like he intended on leaving any time soon.

 _Still_ , she thought as she examined his features and found them passable – attractive, even. _Yes_ , Pansy thought as her gaze travelled along the planes of Albus' broad shoulders; the lines of his chin and neck and arms; _definitely attractive._

Pansy stared at it; she looked away, leaving it untaken, and dangling awkwardly between them. She exhaled; tendrils of grey smoke whirling around her face.

"Pansy," she said, by way of introduction, and Albus withdrew his hand with whatever dignity he could muster.

"Cool," he said quietly as he smoked; the cigarette trembling in fingers that were doing the same.

Pansy rolled her eyes, shaking her head, as she flicked ash onto the ground. "So," she began (she would have to start things here, she knew), "whose side?"

"Excuse me?"

"Bride or groom," Pansy clarified," whose side are you on?"

"You make it sound like some sort of fight."

Pansy chuckled. "Isn't it?"

Albus looked at her, confused.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Pansy said, taking a final drag of her cigarette and butting it out with the toe of her shoes.

"Both," Albus muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Whose side," Albus said, stepping forward. "Both. My –"

He paused, or maybe his voice failed him, Pansy wasn't sure – either way, he had stopped speaking. He simply stood before her, staring at the cigarette in his fingers as though his life depended on it.

"Your what?" Pansy asked.

"My – ha, this is, ah, alright – my boyfriend is marrying my cousin."

"What?"

"Well, ex-boyfriend," Albus said, as though that made things somehow clearer.

Pansy arched her brow. "Well. How's that working out for you?"

Albus laughed. It rang loud, and hollow. "Not great, if I'm honest."

"I can imagine," Pansy said. She didn't have to, of course, after the complete mess of things she'd made with Draco and Astoria. She'd wanted both of them, and neither, and they'd wanted her – but most of all, they'd just wanted their boring, manor-bound life. Cold.

It wasn’t for her.

"Well," she said, softly this time (she felt bad for the kid, really; she'd been there, everyone had), "I'm sorry. About the whole ... thing," Pansy trailed off, and gestured toward the altar. As she did, she brought her arm down to meet Albus' on the way down, and allowed her fingers to rest, to conform to the curve of his wrist.

She stepped in close to Albus, brushing against him. Pansy flared her nostrils, taking the scent of him in: skin and sweat and too-much-cologne.

It was intoxicating.

"But I think," Pansy whispered with Albus' aroma lingering on her tongue, "I _think_ I know of something to take your mind off it all."

Pansy stepped back. She watched the way Albus' vibrant, green eyes widened with realisation, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. She could feel the twitch in his fingers as they laid over hers.

"Come on," she said, "let's go."

Albus, stunned, could only follow.

***

"What're we, where're you –" Albus started to ask as he and Pansy reached Scorpius' bedroom, before his question was muffled by slamming of Pansy's lips against his own; the words snatched from his mouth by her insistent tongue. Kicking the door closed behind them with the heel of her shoe, Pansy urged Albus toward the bed.

"Perfect," she said thrusting him from her and causing him to stumble backwards onto the covers.

"Here?" Albus asked, incredulous.

"Of course here," Pansy replied. "I can't think of a more perfect place. Can you?"

Taking down the straps of her dress, Pansy let it fall past her hips and bunch on the floor at her ankles. She stepped out of it and mounted the bed on her knees, crawling toward Albus.

"Well?" she asked, positioning herself between Albus' legs and loosening his trousers.

"Not right now," Albus managed to choke out as Pansy tugged his trousers down over his hips, exposing the sizable bulge in his pants.

"That's what I thought." Arching her back, Pansy moved down between Albus' legs and placed her tongue on his pants. Laying it flat and firm, she licked upward, before taking in mouthfuls of cotton and cock and sucking furiously.

"Hell," Albus breathed. "C'mere." He reached for Pansy and, slipping his hands under her arms, drew her face to his for a kiss. It was, however, fleeting; no sooner had their tongues made contact than Pansy broke the kiss and, instead, baring her teeth, skimmed them over Albus' neck, unbuttoning his shirt as she did.

While Pansy busied herself with Albus' shirt, he reached for her breasts. Cupping them in his hands, Albus closed his eyes and just _felt_ : malleable flesh warming his palms (heat, heat); nipples hardening with each glancing caress of his thumbs. Grunting, Albus reached around Pansy and fumbled with her bra until he managed to unhook it and her breasts fell free, brushing against the pale, tender, hair-flecked skin of his belly.

The incidental touch drew a gratified moan from Pansy's lips.

"Come on," Pansy said, with a flourish of her hands to indicate what it was that she wanted. Albus, his pulse racing and his breath short, only stared.

 _"Chuh,"_ Pansy said, shaking her head. "Get behind me."

Nodding, Albus did as he was asked and Pansy turned her back to him: she was on the bed, on all fours, facing the far wall.

Flinging his pants across the room, Albus started on Pansy's, only to struggle for some inexplicable reason.

"Of, for f ... just _tear_ them already!" Pansy ordered. She was wet, and wanting and needed to feel a cock inside of her.

Albus complied, nodding, his cock aching, and soon Pansy's underpants joined Albus' in a damp mess on the floor.

Spreading her legs, Pansy jutted back, inviting Albus to enter her; his hands firmly gripping her arse and exposing her, Pansy could feel the slick, swollen head of Albus' prick probing the lips of her cunt; hot and wet and yearning (heat, heat).

As Albus clutched at her hips and entered her, Pansy realised: _this_ was what was right for her. Not Draco and Astoria, not a manor and a title and a son getting married; _this_.

This heat.

She rocked back against Albus and with each of his thrusts, her cunt _squeezed_ , clinging to him, to this moment, this _heat_ ; and among the ruins of their failed relationships, on this day, it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smutty_claus 2010/11.


End file.
